


for reasons wretched and divine

by SafelyCapricious



Series: things you find in a graveyard [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Drinking to Cope, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 17:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: Hermione is having a no good very bad existence right now, and the steamy dreams she keeps having are a big part of that.Luckily she's got help to get her through this definitely not semi-charmed kind of life.





	for reasons wretched and divine

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, lots of things I'm not tagging because I kinda want it to be a surprise? But not like...a bad surprise. (You're gonna know in like the first section, I think!) But the end notes has the bits I'm not saying if you really don't like to go in blind.
> 
> Title generated by the [Hozier random fanfic title generator](http://www.generatorland.com/usergenerator.aspx?id=22501). Bless them so much for the creation of that thing, it is saving what remains of my sanity.
> 
> Fictober continues. Though this one was really close to not happening, so uh, yay?
> 
> Enjoy.

Her finger dig into the pale skin of his back, pulling him closer until he’s blanketing the entirety of her and she can feel him everywhere – she can feel him, hard, between her thighs and she arches and then he’s under her and she’s riding his face and all she can see through the v of her hips is the bright grey of his eyes and the white gold of his hair and – 

She wakes up when he’s leaning over her and saying her name and she’s hot and horny and pissed off. 

Sure, he got attractive at some point, but she was too busy running for her life to really mark it and then – he didn’t have to go back to finish his seventh year so it wasn’t like she even saw him then and apart from the occasional picture in the paper she hasn’t seen him in _years_ so she doesn’t understand why this is happening to her. 

Hermione rolls over with a huff and reaches for the vibrator she keeps in her bedside table, because while she might hate the prat, the dream version of him has her worked up and she’s not going to sacrifice a good orgasm just because the original cause is a bloody dream – nightmare, a bloody nightmare. 

The vibrator is, of course, of the muggle variety. The wizarding world is depressingly old fashioned, Hermione has found, when it comes to sex. It was the very thing that had caused her and Ron to split, though they still remained friends. (Ginny, the lucky bint, had gotten the better side of the bargain with Harry – a truth that Hermione knew distressingly too much about.)

Normally she’d probably tease herself a bit more, but she’s horny from the stupid nightmare – the same nightmare she’s been having for over a week now – and she has a busy day of work ahead of her and no time to waste. So she gets off and ignores the fact that even though she resolutely tries to imagine anyone else she can only see him behind her eyelids when she comes.

Whatever. It’s some weird pseudo-hate crush and it’ll pass. 

***

It doesn’t pass. 

It gets worse. Lots of things get worse. 

So she does the logical thing.

***

“Sounds like you’re drunk, Granger,” Parkinson says.

“Sounds like you’re a bitch, Parkinson” Ginny replies, and Hermione regrets the events that led to both of her at her personal pity party. 

Hermione tips her drink back and tries to signal the bartender for another. She doesn’t expect it to work. It’s a muggle pub and it’s fairly crowded with the standard Friday after work crowd, not to mention she’s buttoned up and looking a little rough from her own day. 

But the bartender is across from her in an instant, smiling widely. His teeth are so straight and white they would make her mother cry. “What can I get you, gorgeous?” He asks.

“Holy fuck,” Parkinson breaths, a sentiment echoed by Ginny’s own shocked noise. 

“Another one – no, make that two, please,” Hermione says and tries not to cringe when he winks and disappears to grab her beers. 

She holds out the correct number of notes – the happy hour board is lit up right behind him and it doesn’t take a genius to multiply by two – when he comes back but he just takes her hand and holds it. “On the house, love. But I will take your number.” 

“No phone, sorry,” she says, pulling her hand back and downing another one of the beers because if she has to keep dealing with this she is damn well going to be drunk for it. 

“You heard the lady,” Parkinson says, smile sharp enough to cut as the bartender opens his mouth again, “Vamoose!” 

“Okay,” Ginny says, once the bartender has finally left and everyone else seems to not be paying attention, “so how long has _that_ been going on?” 

“No,” Parkinson interrupts before Hermione can even consider how to answer that, “better question: what the fuck was that, Granger? He looked like he wanted to crawl into your lap and never leave. And like I get it, I’ve had the same urge,” Hermione bangs her head down on the table, but Parkinson continues like she hasn’t noticed, “But right now you look like the bottom of a cauldron.”

Ginny, traitor, clinks her glass against Parkinson’s as Hermione wonders why she thought this was even vaguely a good idea. She starts on her second new beer and offers a shrug.“I don’t know?” 

The other two are quiet for long enough for Hermione to get worried – long enough for her to realize she’s made a tactical mistake somewhere. She tries to finish her beer so she can escape but suddenly they’ve both moved their chairs closer, perhaps they’ve started coordinating now that they think there’s something wrong with _her_, and have a hold of her arms. 

“Did you accidentally make a love potion?” Ginny asks but Parkinson is speaking at the same time. 

“Did someone curse you? Who cursed you? We’ll take care of it.” 

They have matching expressions and are staring at her like they will fight anyone and everyone to fix her and – she really, really, _really_ regrets the events that led to both of them at her personal pity party.

***

So maybe the dreams aren’t the only thing that’s been weird. 

She doesn’t want to think about it.

So she doesn’t. 

Until she can’t avoid it anymore.

***

“Hermione,” Luna asks, leaning down to peer under her desk, “are there nargles after you?” 

“No, Luna.” Hermione sighs and winces at the rush of bootsteps she can hear in the hallway.

“Oh,” says Luna, looking contemplative, “then why are you hiding under my desk?” 

“It’s a long story, but I think I need to go to St. Mungo’s.” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “And I would appreciate some help, if you could.”

“Of course,” Luna agrees readily, and Hermione only feels a little guilty for not spending more time with her – she really is a good friend. She wouldn’t plot against her or crash her personal pity parties. 

***

The results are…unexpected.

But she hates how much sense it makes. 

Even if the explanation causes more problems then it solves.

***

“I can’t be,” Hermione says, because the test must be wrong. There’s just no possible — it doesn’t make any sense that — “I’m muggleborn.” 

The Mediwizard wiggles his nose. “You’d be surprised, dove, how often this sort of thing happens.” 

Luna smiles, cold compress still held to her eye due to an elbow the first Mediwitch threw to get closer to Hermione. “It does explain the glow.”

“Of course it does,” Hermione says and when she puts her head down on the table the very kind Mediwizard pats her on the back. 

“Now, any idea who your newly emerged Veela side has fixated on? We can send them an owl or floo them on over and —“

“Nope!” Hermione interrupts, well aware that her voice is several octaves too high, “No idea!” 

“Uh-huh,” The Mediwizard says and stares at Hermione like he’s waiting for her to change her story. But she doesn’t. And in the silence they can hear the insistent knocking on the door from someone else she’d apparently come into contact with. 

“I don’t suppose,” she ventures, finally, “there’s some, erm, cure? So I don’t, you know — keep doing this to everyone?” 

“Not everyone,” Luna chimes in, helpfully, “Only those who are generally attracted to women and haven’t ever been attracted to you before, I think.” 

The Mediwizard beams at Luna, “Just right, my dear, just right!” 

“Great,” Hermione waves a hand through the air, “but a cure?” 

“Ah,” and now no one will look at her and — 

“Bugger,” she says. 

“Quite,” agrees the Mediwizard. 

***

Really it’s not the end of the world. 

She can just…hide in her house and never leave again. 

Though she’ll probably go crazy first from the dreams anyways.

***

“So, you’re part Veela? What the shit?” Hermione winces, but opens the door wider when she sees the case of ale Parkinson is carrying. 

Inexplicably, Luna and Ginny are behind her, and they follow in. 

“Hello to you, too,” Hermione says, grabbing one of the bottles and heading to her kitchen. Naturally the other three trail behind her, still asking questions. 

Hermione tips the bottle back and drinks like she’s trying to drown herself. When she lowers the bottle it’s empty and she’s being stared at. 

“It’s good you’re handling this so well,” Ginny says, dryly, as she grabs her own bottle after a moment. 

“I’m going to be a hermit,” Hermione announces and snags another bottle before the others can stop her. 

“Oh it can’t be that bad,” Parkinson says, starting to snoop through Hermione’s cabinets, “Luna said you didn’t know who —“ Hermione upends her second bottle, trying harder to drown this time and Parkinson stares. “Oh snap, you totally know who it is.” 

Ginny’s got a devious look when Hermione has lowered her bottle. “Ron,” she guesses first, and then when that doesn’t get a reaction she just starts to name all the males they’ve ever met — “Harry, George, Neville, Percy, Goyle, Seamus, Oliver, Melvin, Mal—“

“It could be a girl, Ginny,” Luna points out, serene, and Hermione who is pretty sure who Ginny was about to say, is trying not to choke. 

“Hm.” Ginny taps her chin and Hermione considers where she can apparate to, when fleeing her own flat. 

“Nah,” says Parkinson, eyes glinting evilly, “It’s gotta be Draco.” 

Hermione’s empty bottle shatters to the floor. 

**Author's Note:**

> Veela!Hermione with totally not canon-Veela things, because I feel like with the things JK has done to her canon I can do whatever the hell I want and am going to. No smut, per say, in this chapter -- but I expect to do a follow up that's Hermione and Draco actually, you know, interacting.
> 
> Questions, concerns, just wanna talk? Find me [on tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/capriciouswrites), and let me love you.
> 
> Anyways, fictober <strike>sucks</strike> rules so this is all you get for now!
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
